


Made Plain With Stones

by Tawryn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, I’m A Trash Can Not A Trash Can’t, Light Feminization, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Roleplay, Under-negotiated Kink, forgive me Father for I have sinned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tawryn/pseuds/Tawryn
Summary: “He died when I was fourteen. I jerked off in the bathroom at his funeral.”Peter is going to hell. He was probably headed there before this, but now? The demons are definitely designing Peter his own special circle.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 30
Kudos: 150
Collections: Steter Week 2020, Teen Wolf Bingo





	Made Plain With Stones

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [trill_gutterbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug). Log in to view. 



> #### Content Warning: child sexual abuse.
> 
> If you do not want to read about a character fetishizing their own abuse, go ahead and hit that back button. Be the master of your own destiny.
> 
> If you _do_ want to read about it, then you are in the right place fellow trash aficionado! For Steter Week, I wanted to celebrate two of my favorite things about this pairing. The first one was creepy horror. Here is the second: SHAMELESS TRASH. This was inspired by a glorious MCU Steve/Tony fic by [trill_gutterbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug), which my id read and immediately said YES. ANOTHER. And so here we are. Filth begets filth.
> 
> The rape/non-con tag is for past abuse; the sex depicted in this story is consensual, though definitely under-negotiated.

If Peter were the type of man to believe in karma, he would absolutely believe that Stiles was his. As it stands, he’s not, so he doesn’t have to work out whether Stiles is retribution for his sins or a reward from a past life. Right now? Peter is leaning toward the latter.

“Have you ever done this before?”

Stiles’ naked skin is flushed with pink, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as stares up into Peter’s eyes and waits for the answer to his question. Peter drinks in the sight of him, but it only makes him thirsty for more. He can’t help but imagine how good Stiles will look stretched around his dick and honestly, Peter is sure anyone with a pulse would feel the same.

“I have,” Peter says. “Have you?”

They’ve been doing this for a few weeks now. Well, not _this_ exactly, no, this is the part that Peter has patiently been building toward. Every orgasm that Peter’s wrung out of the barely-legal sheriff’s son? They’re going to pale in comparison. While it’s been fun reliving the glory days of frottage on couches, Peter is more than ready. It’s time. He’s going to fuck Stiles for real and remake him on his cock.

Stiles’ eyes are already half-lidded, dark and hazy with lust. He makes such a gorgeous picture. Peter holds Stiles’ hip down with one hand and uses the other to stroke, enjoying the way Stiles’ breath stutters a bit when Peter twists his wrist just so over the head. He’s so gloriously sensitive.

“Um. Yeah,” Stiles says, hesitantly. “Just twice, but yeah.”

Stiles is still digging his teeth into those pretty lips, all red and wet and swollen, and Peter gives into the urge to kiss him some more. He bites at Stiles’ mouth, savoring the tiny noises, the little sighs and gasps of pleasure Stiles makes. Peter should record them. Maybe an audiobook? He could call it _The Temptation of Stiles Stilinski_ and rake in millions. But who’s he kidding—Peter would never let anyone else hear Stiles like this. No, Stiles’ little symphony is for Peter’s ears and Peter’s ears alone.

He pulls away. Stiles leans into him, head against head as he catches his breath. The side of Peter’s neck is growing hotter and more humid with Stiles’ panting, but Peter doesn’t mind at all. There’s a graze of teeth. Stiles is sucking a mark into Peter’s throat, and Peter gives Stiles’ cock another languid stroke, feeling the edge of Stiles’ smirk.

“Just twice?” Peter teases. “With who?”

“No one you know,” Stiles says into Peter’s skin.

“Are you sure? I know a lot of people.”

Peter releases Stiles’ cock and pushes him down into the sheets. He holds Stiles’ eyes, watching them grow darker with banked heat as Peter rolls his tongue around a finger, coating it in spit. When Peter traces his slick fingertip over the rim of Stiles’ hole, Stiles trembles and lets out the sweetest moan. Perhaps Peter had saved a bus full of orphans in a past life? Stiles is a gift; clearly whatever act of goodwill Peter’s previous incarnation had done must’ve been something extraordinary.

“No?” Peter says, a playful lilt to his voice once he’s realized Stiles isn’t going to answer. “Well, did you like it?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles says. Peter presses the tip of his finger inside and rakes his eyes down, scouring them over the lines of Stiles’ body as the muscle opens for his touch, soft and unresistant.

“What did you like about it?” he asks.

“He, uh.” Stiles swallows. “His fingers. They felt so big inside me.”

“Is that so.” Peter hooks his finger and Stiles gives him a delicious, breathless little gasp. “Well, I’m about to put something a lot bigger than fingers in here.”

Stiles goes very, very still for a moment and then shudders, cock jerking with helpless arousal. A dribble of wetness leaks from the head, sliding down to pool in the hollow of his soft stomach.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” he says. “That’s what Uncle Steve used to say.”

The heat in the room evaporates, turning icy as time freezes. Stiles freezes too, every muscle in his body stiffening all at once.

“What did you just say?”

Stiles licks his lips, eyes wild. “I. Nothing.”

The silence is so loud. The only thing Peter can hear is the ragged catch of Stiles’ breath, the rapid staccato rhythm of their twin heartbeats as they both skip and stutter. A bead of sweat rolls down Stiles’ nose. Peter’s finger is still inside him.

“Your uncle,” Peter says, carefully. “Those two times were with your uncle?”

Peter is placid on the surface, a smooth veneer of calm resting upon a lake of sudden rage. An unmistakable cool fury churns deep below as he gingerly removes his finger from Stiles’ ass and waits. Stiles is silent long enough for Peter to think that he’s not going to respond, but then Stiles swallows hard and says, “Yeah.”

Shit. “Stiles, I’m—”

“I liked it.”

It’s so soft it’s nearly inaudible. Peter doesn’t think he possibly could’ve heard him right. “...What?”

“I liked it, okay?” Stiles says, the words escaping in a rush. “My uncle fucked me in the ass, and I fucking liked it!”

Stiles’ brows are drawn together in challenge, and there’s a fierce look in his eyes as if he’s daring Peter to make fun of him, of this, like he’s waiting for the mere whisper of a chance to fire back the scalding retort he has ready on his tongue.

“You liked it,” Peter says slowly, trying to understand.

Stiles blinks and his face changes somehow, the wildness turning inward. He lets out a soft, bitter laugh. “I know. What kind of sick freak, right?”

“ _Stiles_.”

“After my mom died,” Stiles continues glibly. “Dad would sometimes send me away for the summer. Uncle Steve had a pool and three acres. It wasn’t a big deal. He was nice.”

 _He was nice._ Peter closes his eyes for a brief moment to rein in his anger.

“How old were you?” he asks, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Twelve, when it started,” Stiles says, waving a dismissive hand. “He died when I was fourteen. I jerked off in the bathroom at his funeral.”

A strangled noise escapes Peter’s throat.

“I jerked off a lot actually. Thinking about it, I mean. For years and years.” Stiles’ hand floats down to the wet mess of his stomach and he wraps it around his half-hard dick, coaxing it back to full strength. He stares Peter right in the eye as he continues. “I would finger myself and imagine it was him. Would put them in my mouth first, like he did. Shove them to the back my throat to get the good spit.”

Peter was wrong—maybe Stiles is punishment after all. Against what little scruples he has, Peter senses his cock stirring with renewed interest. Every filthy word that falls from Stiles’ mouth has Peter’s body throbbing with desire, and for the first time in a long time Peter is speechless.

He isn’t sure if he’s afraid to break the spell or afraid of how blisteringly hot he finds this.

Granted, Stiles is definitely young enough to be his own kid. And while that had never bothered him, Peter isn’t _completely_ amoral. This situation is certainly giving him some pause, but well... it might be a nice point of reference. His humanity hasn’t been burnt away to ash just yet. In a way, it’s almost refreshing to allow himself this small measure of dissonance as Peter is forced to reexamine the alignment of his moral compass and his dick.

Stiles, however, seems to interpret Peter’s silence as judgment. “Sorry. God, shit—I’m sorry. This is, it’s too much, right?”

It’s definitely too much. In his entire life, Peter can’t remember ever feeling more turned on.

He leans down into Stiles and presses the heavy weight of his cock against Stiles’ thigh, kissing his mouth open so he can drink down the sharp moan he gets in response. Stiles does a shivery little thing when he pulls back, looking up at Peter with those big, brown eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is—which is so ridiculously insane.

Might as well jump in the handbasket.

“What do you need from me?” Peter asks.

Stiles whimpers a bit as he arches up, trying to grind against Peter’s body. “Can I. Can I just— talk about it? While we do this?”

He’s a monkey’s paw; Stiles is going to kill him. White-hot lust forks through Peter like lightning and he kisses Stiles again, kisses that obscene, wet mouth, and then moves to scrape his teeth over Stiles’ ear. “Yeah. Go ahead, tell me.”

Stiles tips his head back and Peter sucks a mark into the slender column of his throat.

“The first time,” Stiles says with a swallow. “The first time, we were swimming. Uncle Steve, he was teaching me how to do flips into the pool. And I remember he was holding me at one point, and I could feel his dick poking me in the ribs.”

Peter ghosts a hand down Stiles’ side and he shudders. “What did you think about that?”

“It felt weird. I was kind of embarrassed by it,” Stiles says. “But I didn’t say anything.”

Stiles’ long, black lashes flutter closed. He’s such a beautiful temptation, pale skin scattered with moles, the color high on his cheeks as he moves his hand over his cock. Peter could go on sinning forever where Stiles is concerned.

“He told me to take my bathing suit off, so we could lay it out to dry. But then he took his off too. And I remember his dick was so hard, so red at the tip.” Stiles is biting his lip again, and Peter is transfixed by the sight. “Then he asked me if I wanted to play with it.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked, what did he mean? And he said that when dicks get hard it feels good to play with them, and he would show me how.” Stiles’ eyes are huge, nearly black when he opens them. “I still remember the feel of his knuckles rubbing against my stomach as he jerked it.”

There’s an electric moment as Stiles looks pointedly at the cock in Peter’s hand, at the way Peter is rubbing his thumb across the wetness at its head and bringing his hand back down in a strong and perfect slide. There’s not that much distance from Peter’s hand to Stiles’ own stomach. Peter can take a heavy-handed hint.

“Like this?” Peter asks, closing the distance.

The brush of his knuckles moving over Stiles’ soft belly is positively sinful, and Stiles’ responding gasp is high and surprised. “Oh, god,” he says, strangled. “F-fuck.”

Peter is going to hell. He was probably headed there before this, but now? The demons are definitely designing Peter his own special circle.

“What else?” he asks.

“He touched my nipples.” Stiles throws an arm over his face. His cock smacks the inside of Peter’s wrist as he lets it go. “But, h-he uh, he called them tits.”

Well. Good thing they’re getting that circle of hell ready, because Peter isn’t sure he’ll be alive at the end of this. He keeps moving the one hand, Stiles’ stomach trembling minutely beneath him, and takes hold of one of Stiles’ pale nipples. Peter rolls it between his forefinger and thumb, squeezing it between his nails until Stiles squeaks, and then closes his teeth over a soft spot behind Stiles’ ear.

“You like having your tits played with, Stiles?”

Stiles’ only reply is to shudder and choke out a whine that’s closer to a sob.

“Yeah, baby?” Peter says. “You do have such pretty little tits.”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Peter.” Stiles sounds like Peter is killing him. Which is fine—if Peter’s going to hell, he’s not going alone.

“Tell me about the first time he fucked you,” Peter says.

“Oh god.” Stiles groans. “Okay, fuck, um. He was, he had this thing? Where he liked to fuck the space between my legs. So, I was on my hands and knees. And I-I could feel the head of his dick, you know, bumping against my sack.”

Peter pinches Stiles’ nipple one more time before he lets go. He doesn’t need to say a word. Stiles is already scrambling to get on his hands and knees as Peter reaches for the lube. He trails a hand down the expanse of Stiles’ back and squeezes a generous amount into his palm before slicking up his cock. Stiles’ thighs are hot and slippery with sweat as Peter slides between them.

“Like this?”

Stiles’ low and throaty moan is answer enough. “Yes, _yes_ , just like this.”

Peter can’t remember the last time he did this. It seems like something so simple shouldn’t feel so good. He thrusts softly into the heat of Stiles’ thighs, listening to Stiles pant underneath him, arms already shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

“What happened next, Stiles?” he asks, rolling his hips.

Stiles is shifting beneath him, little punches of breath spilling from his mouth every time the head of Peter’s dick connects with the tender underside of his balls. He’s shaking all over, falling to his elbows as he pushes back to meet Peter’s thrusts.

“He put his thumb in my mouth and told me to suck,” Stiles answers.

Peter brings his hand up to Stiles’ mouth. “Suck it, baby.”

His thumb only rests on the edge of Stiles’ lips for a moment before Stiles is drawing it in, rolling his tongue over it like he’s trying to memorize the whorl of Peter’s thumbprint. The wet, filthy sounds intensify as Stiles hurriedly sucks another finger into his mouth. He’s fucking desperate for it, it’s killing Peter, _killing_ him, and soon enough Stiles is moaning around three fingers, hot and needy as they stretch his dirty mouth. Fuck. Peter needs to slow down or this is going to be over far too quickly.

He drags his hand back with some reluctance. “Did he slip his thumb inside?” Peter asks.

“Uh huh.” Stiles gasps wetly as Peter works the tip of his spit-slicked thumb into his ass. “Just the thumb at first, but then he kept adding more. Stretching me open.”

Peter grabs the open lube again and dribbles it over his fingers. Some of it drips down to where Stiles’ hole is opening under his touch and Stiles shivers, arching his back like a slut, breathing heavily into his arms like he can’t wait for it. Peter grabs a handful of Stiles’ ass and squeezes, pressing his thumb deep inside.

“More.” Stiles groans. “More, more, please.”

Peter slides another finger in and then another, stretching Stiles apart as he continues to rock slowly between those gorgeous thighs. Stiles works himself back, panting for it, so eager that Peter is a little worried about who’s actually being remade. This baptism by fire was not at all what Peter had anticipated.

“How does it feel?” Peter murmurs.

“Fuck, Peter. It’s so much. So good,” Stiles says. “Feels like I’m gonna be split open.”

“Yeah? I think you’re wet enough, baby. Want me to split you open on my cock?” He rubs his fingers inside Stiles’ hole, searching, twisting just right. Stiles tenses up, his whole body jerking, and then relaxes with a long, low moan. “Because it’s a lot bigger than these fingers.”

“Please,” Stiles sobs. “Please, Peter.”

“Shh, okay,” Peter soothes. “What next?”

“He told me to roll over. Said he wanted to see my face so that he knew he wasn’t hurting me too much.”

Peter pulls his fingers out and leans away. “Roll over, baby. I want to see that pretty face.”

Stiles flips over onto his back, looking drunk with desire as he stares up at Peter, red all over and quaking. His cock is dripping at the tip, so filthy wet, and Stiles groans and jerks away when Peter gives it a teasing stroke as if he’s already on the edge and the touch is too much. Which it probably is. Stiles parts so easily for Peter’s cock as he slides inside though, a blistering sear of heat that sucks Peter in and radiates, blazing up his spine like the infernos of hell. Peter curses softly.

“What did he say when he fucked you?” He gives an experimental thrust and Stiles keens. “Fuck, Stiles, you’re so tight. What did he say when he split open this hot little hole?”

“Asked me if I liked it,” Stiles says, soft as a whisper. He shakes, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist to draw him in deeper. “Told me I was a dirty boy, that it had to be our secret. That I couldn’t tell anyone.”

The firestorm of Peter’s orgasm is perilously close. He sucks in a steadying breath and flexes his fingers against Stiles’ hips until it passes.

“You like this, baby?” he asks, sinking further into Stiles’ heat with a slow, deep roll of his hips. “You like it in your ass?”

Stiles whines in response.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Dirty boy. Bet you love this cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, fuck, yes! I love it, please.” Stiles is sobbing now, legs trembling, and Peter slides a strong arm under the dip of his lower back to pull him closer.

“This has to be our little secret, right Stiles? You can’t tell anyone. We don’t want them to know what a dirty little slut you are for it, do we?”

He feels the way Stiles reacts to that, every muscle in his body convulsing like a ripple of flame blowing through dry grass. “I won’t, I won’t,” Stiles says, near incoherently. “Please, don’t tell. Please.”

“That’s right.” Peter snaps his hips faster. “This is just for us. Just for me.”

Peter is getting close again, fire gathering low in his gut, and he can’t find it in him to hold back, to drag this out. Stiles is wound so tight that Peter knows it won’t take much. “Did he touch your little dick, Stiles? Did he come inside you?”

Stiles clenches down on Peter’s cock and a high, despairing noise explodes out of him. “Oh god, oh god, yes, both, _please_ , yes.”

Peter tightens his grip on Stiles’ hips as he fucks him faster, chasing the end, deep and powerful thrusts that have Stiles babbling and twisting into the sheets. “I’m gonna come, baby. I’m gonna shoot it all inside you, so you can carry it around. So you’ll remember what a dirty boy you are. You’re gonna feel it all day as it drips out of you.”

It only takes two strokes for Stiles to ignite, falling apart into a big, quivering mess and coming with a choked sob. Peter is right behind him. He drives his cock deep inside of Stiles and comes with a long, shattered breath, his forehead pressed into Stiles’ damp chest. Peter rests there, tasting the salt of his skin, before he finds the strength to pull out. Stiles whines when he does it, a little hurt, needy sound, but Peter sits back to watch his come drool out, filled with a primal satisfaction as it leaks and rolls down the crack of Stiles’ ass.

They’re quiet for a long moment.

“So,” Stiles finally says. He looks up at Peter with an arched brow. “Did I just make it weird?”

Peter can’t help it. His shoulders shake as the sudden, hysterical laugh explodes out of him, and he has to lie back down as it takes over. Stiles joins in too, and they turn into each other, their hands slippery with sweat as they hold on and laugh until they’re nearly crying, eyes burning with tears. When Peter can breathe again, he leans in close and presses a kiss to Stiles’ mouth.

“Very,” he says with a grin. “So fucking weird.”

Stiles smiles back, but there’s something tender and searching in his eyes. “Not bad weird though, right?”

A tiny flicker of pain sears Peter’s heart, and he brushes his lips over Stiles’ brow.

“Not bad weird,” Peter assures him. “Just Stiles weird.”

Stiles’ mouth goes soft and lopsided. “Good,” he says, giving Peter’s ear a flick.

It seems too sappy a thing to admit out loud, but when it comes to Stiles there’s no other weird Peter would rather have. Besides, at this point? Peter should really just go big or go home.

Heaven would’ve been boring anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Steter Week – Free Choice; Teen Wolf bingo fill: “Did I just make it weird?”


End file.
